


A Study in Johnlock

by moonlight08



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlight08/pseuds/moonlight08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of one-shots. Not related. I am going to take an episode of the series and turn it into a Johnlock AU. </p><p>Chapter 1 - Soulmate AU (A Study in Pink)<br/>Chapter 2 - Kid!Lock (The Blind Banker)<br/>Chapter 3 - Potter!Lock (The Great Game)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in Pink (Soulmate AU)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. So... the thing is, if Sherlock was mine Johnlock would be cannon. Therefore, I do not own Sherlock. (Sadly.)
> 
> 2\. I'm not a native English speaker. Sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes.
> 
> 3\. All those mistakes are mine. I do not have a Beta.
> 
> 4\. Any suggestions are welcome.
> 
> 5\. First Sherlock fanfic. Be nice.

It definitely wasn’t an ideal place to live in. How could it be? John’s army pension barely covered basic expenses. It certainly wasn’t enough to cover the rent of a decent flat in London. And God knew he didn’t want to leave London. So he would have to make do with this one room in a dodgy part of the city.

But that wasn’t what bothered John. He had never needed luxury ̶-courtesy of a modest childhood and His Majesty’s Royal Army-. No, the real problem was this empty feeling that had been growing inside him. John had always been a man with a purpose. He had always known what his life was going to be like. He had always known exactly what he was supposed to be doing. And then he suddenly hadn’t.

It had only taken one bullet. One stupid bullet and everything John had ever known had promptly gone to hell. A wounded shoulder. A psychosomatic limp. And that damn tremor in his hand. He wasn’t fit for the army anymore. He couldn’t act as a surgeon anymore. And wasn’t that just great. Everything he had wanted and worked for his entire life was gone. Because of a stray bullet. Wrong place, wrong time.

 _Fuck_. Sometimes he longed for that illegal gun he had stashed in his bedside drawer. There had been nights when he stared longingly at the fire weapon. It would have been simple. Painless, even. But something stopped him every time.

Like everyone else, John had a mark inked on his left wrist. Almost like a tattoo. His was shaped as a brain. A brain was apparently what best described his soulmate. In all his years as a doctor he had seen his fair share of what were known as soulmarks. There had been hearts, musical instruments, animals, eyes, hands and –in one remarkable occasion- a poem. Not once had he seen another brain. Soulmarks were usually much more metaphorical. Wisdom or intelligence were often represented with an owl. Or a book.

And so it was raw curiosity was what kept him going. Who was this person? This brain? He wanted to know. _Needed_ to know.

 

•

 

It was a nice day in London. Warm and miraculously dry. A nice day for a walk, John decided.

Russell Square Gardens was as good a place as any. And he knew a nice café nearby. He would get a cup of coffee and walk around the park for a while. It would take no more than thirty minutes. He was only doing it because his therapist had told him to get out of his bedsit for something else than his mandatory therapy sessions.

He was out now. Happy, Ella?

It wasn’t long until he heard his name being called. One of his college mates, Mike Stamford. Nice bloke. Maybe a bit shy, but nice nonetheless. He had apparently found his soulmate just after graduation, and was now teaching at Barts. No kids. A pretty ordinary life.

“Who would want me for a flatmate?”

John’s not sure how they ended up discussing this.

“You’re the second person to say that to me today.”

“Who was the first?”

 

•

 

“Here. You can use mine.”

Pale, ethereal eyes glanced in his direction for the first time. John’s breath caught. He was sure he had never seen that particular shade of icy gray (green? Blue?). They seemed to pierce through John, leaving him feeling a bit out of sorts.

Then the man had started speaking. His voice like dark velvet, saying things he had no way of knowing.

“We don’t know a thing about each other. I don’t know where we are meeting. I don’t even know your name.”

And then a string of facts. Facts about John, about his life. He even knew about Harry, for God’s sake.

“The name is Sherlock Holmes. The address is 221B Baker Street.”

Intrigued. That was what he was feeling, surely. John was only intrigued.

 

•

 

The flat was definitely nice. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was delightful. And John could probably afford it. He’d have to try to find a steady job soon, though.

And then the DI had come to the flat and he was off, following Sherlock to a crime scene. As if he hadn’t seen enough death already. There was probably something wrong with him. He didn’t care. Not as much as he should, at least.

(Brilliant. That’s not what people normally say. What do they say? Fuck off.)

John had been left behind at the crime scene. He had been warned off Sherlock. He had been kidnapped. He had tried to flirt with a woman that had something to do the kidnapping. He had been turned down by said woman. He had met a strange man with an umbrella. He had been offered money to spy on his… future flatmate? (Maybe.) He had received a text that told him to come to Baker Street, only to send a text to a murder suspect. He had had a stakeout with who he was starting to think of as a madman. (A _brilliant_ madman, to be fair. But a madman, nonetheless.) He had chased a taxi through London and scared a couple of tourists. He had come back to 221B to a drugs bust. (Who would ever want to compromise that brain. That amazing, marvelous, _brilliant_ brain with drugs?)

And it hit him like a metaphorical ton of bricks.

 _Brain_.

He hadn’t actually seen Sherlock’s soulmark, had he?

But surely it couldn’t be.

Could it?

John’s heart skipped a beat.

 _Fuck_.

 

•

 

There wasn’t time to think. Stupid, _stupid_ Sherlock was gone. Gone with a serial killer. Damn him.

Of course he was right behind him. How could he not be?

A decision was made. He chose the wrong building, but still had a clear shot. When the pill got a bit too close to Sherlock’s mouth, he didn’t hesitate. The cabbie fell and John ran out of the building. He had to get out before the cops arrived.

Everyone believed his story, it seemed. Except for Sherlock. But he had always been one for exceptions, had he not?

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I am.”

“You have just killed a man.”

“Yes,” blue stared into icy gray “it’s true, isn’t it?” A Pause.”But he wasn’t a very nice man.”

“No. No, he wasn’t. Really wasn’t.”

“And, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie.”

Sherlock giggled. Honest-to-God _giggles_.

“It’s true. He was a bad cabbie. You should have seen the route he took to get here.”

And how could John not join the giggling?

“We can’t giggle at a crime scene. Stop it.”

Sherlock froze.

“What’s wrong?”

Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds. Then he touched his left wrist.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” John found himself saying, staring into bewildered eyes.

A sun. Sherlock’s soulmark was a sun.

“May I?” John’s hand hovered over the mark. The other man seemed to hesitate for a second.

What if they were soulmates? Their life would change for good. They would be tied together until they both died.

John knew he wouldn’t complain if he got to wake up every morning to those cheekbones, those eyes, that mess of curls. If he was honest with himself, he had wanted to kiss the man from the moment they had met. But Sherlock didn’t seem like the kind to want a soulmate.

Which was why John was surprised to see him nod.

A sun shone bright that night.

 

•

 

Their first kiss was surprisingly soft and… perfect really. Until the bastard with the umbrella coughed beside them, interrupting the moment.

 _Mycroft_. Sherlock’s brother.

The in-laws were a bit not good, he supposed.

John could live with that.


	2. The Blind Banker (Kid!Lock AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wants sweets, so Sherlock is going to get them for him.

“I want sweets, Lock.” 

I absolutely loathed the nickname, but I would endure it for John. He still wasn’t able to say my name correctly. And I suppose Lock is somewhat better than what my four-year-old friend would say otherwise. Shwlock.

I shuddered. I was three and a half. I shouldn’t be called anything as undignified as that. 

“Lock?” 

Baby blue eyes stared into mine, pleading. John’s mum rarely ever bought sweets for him. I, personally, didn’t even like sweets. But if John wanted them, then he should have them.

•

I saw Sebastian on the corner, eating something that looked like chocolate. I didn’t like him. He had told me we were friends, once, only to try to get me to do his coloring for him. Tedious. Of course I didn’t do it. He then proceeded to make everyone call me a freak.

Everyone but John, that is.

That was one of the many reasons why he and I were friends. And because we were friends, I would get him some sweets.

I took a deep breath and walked over to Seb Wilkes. He always had sweets (just like stupid, fat Mycroft) and had been nagging me with something about a broken toy.

Not that I cared in the slightest. But it could come in handy.

Apparently, Mr. Teddy (dull name given by a tiny brain) had lost an ear. Sebastian didn’t know how that had happened. He kept Mr. Teddy in his locker. And nobody had seen anything.

That could be interesting.

 

•

 

It was over fairly fast.

Older kids (they were already six years old!) had been bullying some of my classmates (Eddie, Brian and Soo, hardly difficult to deduce) into bringing them anything they asked for, no questions asked. Crayons and toys had gone missing from different classes. But then Ed had almost given them away by giving a stolen crayon to Amanda because he liked her. So they had cut Mr. Teddy’s ear off (thinking it was Ed’s, idiots), locked the boy inside the broom closet and made him stay quiet.

Then Brian had found him. He had been locked inside too.

That only left Soo, so her brother, obviously in the knowledge, pushed her and she got hurt (merely a scratch, why was she crying so much?). The adults sent her to the infirmary. I couldn't ask her. There weren't any other potential witnesses left.

I kept on looking.

The investigation was exhilerating. Perhaps I could be a policeman when I grew up.

No. Dull.

Private detective? Maybe.

 

·

It had been an interesting case to follow, until Shan had tried to take John while he was playing with Sarah (dull, dull girl, but John seemed to like her). Then I had gone to Professor Dimmock and told him everything.

Shan and her group had been suspended for an entire week. 

 

•

 

“Thank you, Lock!” John exclaimed when I gave him the sweets. The smile on his face was so wide I wondered if it hurt his cheeks.

I nodded.

“You’re welcome.”

Then he pressed his lips against my cheek.

“You’re my best friend, you know?”

I smiled.

“I know.”


	3. Potter!Lock AU (The Great Game)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is a wizard. Sherlock doesn't know.

John Watson was a simple man. He had simple needs.

Right then he needed to get out of the flat.

He loved the life he had in Baker Street. Sherlock was brilliant. He was amazing. But when he was in one of his moods, he could be just like a child throwing a temper tantrum. So when the thought of turning him into a toad started to seem like a viable option, the doctor decided it was time to leave.

Performing magic in front of Sherlock would be a bit not good.

Ever since he had moved in with the muggle (and John just knew Sherlock would resent to be called that), John had been very careful not to do anything magical. Not even if he knew his flatmate would not be back home for hours. It was too risky. Besides, he was used to living a muggle life. The British Army wasn’t the best place to practice transfiguration.

So, to avoid any kind of trouble, he decided to go to Sarah’s. She was a nice, normal woman and didn’t drive him insane. And she’d probably let him sleep in her couch. They were friends, if nothing more.

 

*

 

An explosion at Baker Street.

John’s heart skipped a beat.

_Sherlock_.

He apparated to the nearest alley to the flat and ran from there. Yes, the detective usually drove him insane, but if anything happened to him…

If anything happened to him John wouldn’t survive.

He loved that mad man. He had for a while. So he hadn’t been able to breathe until he finally saw him, alive and unharmed. And arguing with Mycroft. But that was common enough.

He had to repress every urge to hug or kiss his best friend.

Married to his work and all.

John would take whatever he could get.

 

*

 

It all happened pretty fast, as things usually did when Sherlock was around. A pink phone. A pair of trainers. _Explosive vests_. Several puzzles.

Sherlock being brilliant and incredibly insensitive.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

But then a woman died. John felt powerless. Useless. Not even his magic could help save those people. And Sherlock didn’t _care_.

He cared about Moriarty, though. He was interesting. He was intelligent. Sherlock was enthralled.

That was what hurt John the most, as petty as that was. He was jealous. He was so jealous he had started seeing red.

“I hope you two are very happy together.”

He stormed out, making sure he had his wand with him.

Perhaps some butterbeer would help. Or Diagon Alley could be a distraction.

Even if he knew none of those things would help with the empty feeling in his chest.

He could try.

 

*

 

That was, of course, how he ended strapped into a vest full of semtex. Gay Jim. Right.

He couldn’t get to his wand. The explosives were in the way. And he was still too dizzy to try anything else. He was helpless. Useless. Again.

Damn it.

 

*

 

“I’m going to burn _the heart out of you_.”

That was the moment John knew Sherlock loved him back. Just a quick glance in his direction had been enough.

The timing could’ve been better.

It didn’t matter. Sherlock had to make it alive. Even if it meant John didn’t.

“Run, Sherlock!”

The idiot didn’t run.

_Stupid_.

In love, his brain supplied.

It wasn’t the time to feel giddy.

 

*

 

Moriarty left and Sherlock couldn’t get the vest off fast enough. And John cracked a joke, just to see the genius smile.

 

*

 

When Jim came back, John knew the time for secrets was over. His magic was the only thing that could get them out alive. So when Sherlock shot the bomb, the doctor took out his wand.

“Protego!”

He grabbed his flatmate’s waist and disapparated back to Baker Street.

 

*

 

“It is impossible!”

“Not impossible, Sherlock. Simply improbable.”

 

*

 

“How long have you been…”

“A wizard?”

Sherlock only nodded.

“People are born magical, Sherlock.”

“Are your parents magical? What about your sister?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Why?”

It was going to be a long day.

 

*

 

“You, John Watson, are a wonder.”

If Sherlock kissed him like that every day for the rest of their lives, John would die a _very_ happy man.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your opinions. Feel free to leave a comment. I'll try to answer back.


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